Grace
Tuesday, August 31, 3:05
a.m.
Time Remaining on the
Extinction Clock: 32 hours, 55 minutes
E.S.T.
For Grace Courtland it had all come down to
this. A single moment in time when what she did and who she was
would matter most.
She had climbed up through the long darkness
of the access stairs and emerged into the darkness of the utility
closet in Hecate’s office. She almost rushed straight out, but when
she heard them talking about the trigger device she stopped to
listen. She understood what had to be done.
“It’s all yours, Father,” said Hecate.
“Let’s change the world.”
Grace stepped out and pointed her gun at
Cyrus Jakoby’s face.
“Let’s not,” she said.
The three of them froze, in shock, but their
eyes were filled with sudden and immeasurable
hatred.
“Mein Gott!” cried Cyrus.
Grace fired.
Not at Otto, or Cyrus, or Hecate. She fired
at the laptop. But the lead-shielded computer was too tough and the
bullet ricocheted off to punch a hole through Cyrus’s left biceps.
He screamed and fell back, clapping a hand over the bloody
wound.
“No!” said Otto in a hoarse
whisper.
He lunged for the keyboard and Grace shot
him. The first bullet took Otto Wirths in the shoulder and spun
him, and her second punched a wet hole in his chest. Otto crashed
to the desk and then rolled off onto the floor, dragging the laptop
with him.
And then Hecate threw herself at Grace. The
albino woman leaped twelve feet across the office and drove Grace
against the wall. With a snarl of inhuman rage Hecate bit down hard
on Grace’s shoulder. Grace screamed and reeled back and she struck
her already-injured head on the corner of the closet doorway. The
pain was almost unbearable, but she clubbed Hecate with the butt of
her pistol. The blow barely slowed the woman. Hecate snarled at
Grace, her lips red with the blood that pumped from Grace’s torn
shoulder. Grace hit her again and again, but Hecate backhanded her
so hard that the world went white in the midst of all the
blackness.
Grace hit the ground and her gun slid away
from her. Hecate looked from Grace to the fallen pistol and was
caught in a split second of indecision. Grace tried to focus her
eyes, but there were two of everything. Even so she did not
hesitate. He kicked hard and swept Hecate’s feet from under her,
and as she fell Grace rolled sideways toward her gun. Hecate sprang
into a catlike crouch and lunged again, but Grace had her gun now.
She fired from point-blank range and the bullet tore through
Hecate’s stomach.
“No!” cried Cyrus as his daughter was flung
backward.
Grace struggled to her knees and pointed the
gun at Cyrus.
“Step away from that fucking computer!” she
ordered.
Someone began pounding on the office door
and then came gunshots. Grace could not tell who it was-Special
Forces, the Russians, the Berserkers-and she couldn’t risk
it.
“Step away or I will kill you!” Grace
yelled. Her head injury was making her sick, and the double vision
was getting worse.
Cyrus hesitated. His eyes were wild, mouth
open, drool beginning to drip from his lower lip.
“You can’t,” he implored. “This is
everything I’ve worked for my whole life. This is the purpose of my
life!”
“Move away from the keyboard..
”
“You idiot. you’re white! What I’m doing
will be the saving of the entire race. Don’t you understand that?
This for the survival of the white race!”
Grace’s eyes narrowed to icy slits. Her
hands were trembling, but her voice was firm. “And this is for the
survival of the human race.”
She pulled the trigger.
There were two blasts.
The first caught Cyrus Jakoby high on the
left side of his chest and spun him against the
wall.
The second blast, which happened in almost
the same instant, struck Grace Courtland in the
back.
The impact threw her forward to the edge of
the desk. She hit it hard and collapsed to her knees. Shocked
beyond understanding, she turned and saw a shape emerge from the
shadows of the closet.
Conrad Veder. He held his smoking pistol in
his hand and raised the barrel to point at Grace’s head.